When the Man Comes Around
by LifeBringsMeOnlyTears
Summary: Survive? Yeah, we survived the apparent end of the world. But, there's a lot more to surviving than just staying alive. When the world tries to take a bite out of you, you either fight back with everything you have or you don't fight back at all. There's no half ass way to make it, not anymore. RE-inspired, no OC/CC pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**When the Man Comes Around:** Survive? Yeah, we survived the apparent end of the world. But, there's a lot more to surviving than just staying alive. When the world tries to take a bite out of you, you either fight back with everything you have or you don't fight back at all. There's no half ass way to make it, not anymore. RE-inspired, no OC/CC pairings.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim to have any ownership to any of the characters that may be recognized throughout this story. Several characters from the Resident Evil Universe are portrayed in this story, but they are in no way the main characters. However, the storyline does borrow from concepts presented in the Capcom creations, so please do not sue me! In addition, Kurt Morgan is a creation of a good friend of mine; I'm merely borrowing him.

**Rating:** This story is rated M+ for Mature Audiences only. Adult content including coarse language and a great deal of violence and gore. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with zombie-related things!

**Author's Note:** This story is a zombie fic, obviously, and it does include several Resident Evil characters. I completed the story several months ago and I've been working on its sequel. It should be noted that the sequel is a crossover with TWD, but there are no real relations between TWD-verse and this fic. Any feedback is, as always, very much appreciated. Thanks for reading.

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"_Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward."_ - Victor Kiam

**Chapter One**

_**(Natalie)**_

"Nat, you're hogging all the hot water."

I leaned against the warm tiles weakly, eyes closed as the water sluiced over my skin. A knock sounded at the door again and I groaned internally as the familiar voice pierced through the thin wood, urging me to hurry the hell up. I ignored them, as was customary, and merely rolled my eyes when I heard the door open and then close.

"You okay in there?"

Sure, the shower curtain was dark, but I could still make out their imposing figure as I turned on my heel, back against the tiled wall and water pelting against my side. "Fine," I managed. "Go away, Coop."

He chuckled, the sound warm and throaty. "We were supposed to head out an hour ago, Nat - you're holding us up. You know better than anyone that -" he cut off suddenly as I pulled back the shower curtain enough to stick my drenched head out. "What? No free show?"

"Fuck off, Coop." I snarled, but it didn't seem to have any effect on him. Sure, the man had faced down an entire army of undead and walked away unscathed, but every now and then I liked to think that minor things could get under his skin. I was wrong. "I'll be out when I'm out."

Eric J. Cooper, or Coop as he preferred to be called, was one of those types of guys whose age was indiscernible. There were a few lines around his eyes, but nobody exactly looked _young_ anymore. Some days he looked to be in his early thirties, and other days he looked to be in his mid-forties. His hair was kept short, was a dark blonde, and went well with his sea green eyes. There were a few scars on his face, all of which he claimed he'd gotten during his tour of duty with the Marines. He was tall, real tall, and more than imposing standing there, arms folded over the front of his black t-shirt.

"Nat, Ranger's getting pissed."

Ranger didn't have a real name, not that anyone knew. He was quiet and dark and foreboding and even more dangerous than the undead mother fuckers that hunted us at every turn. While Willie, the former Air Force Commander, had been officially appointed as our rag tag group's leader, Ranger was the backbone. Between him and Coop, we had all the weapons, explosives, and defense tactics training that we'd ever need.

Between the shower and me, Ranger scared the bejesus out of me.

"Fine." Moaning, I shut the curtain and stuck my head under the cooling stream of water. I'd already washed and done the whole _routine_ so to speak, but I wasn't in any hurry. Eighty seconds later, when I'd stuck my head out of the curtain, Coop was perched on the vanity, hands folded in his lap. "Fuck off, Coop!"

With a chuckle, he slipped out of the door and left me in peace. I waited a beat before hopping out of the shower and wrapping myself with a slightly stiff towel. The mirrors were fogged over, which saved me from seeing my less-than-pleasant appearance. I knew the self-haircut didn't do much for my curly brown locks. But, the bruise that covered most of my left cheek and left eye was probably worse, not that my hazel eyes held much appeal.

As I pulled on clean underpants and a bra, my mind started wandering back to Coop's appearance. He usually made a joke or two and pulled open the shower curtain before teasing me about climbing on in. Ironically, the lack of teasing made me wonder if I'd lost my appeal, if my slim five and a half foot build had lost all of its zing.

_Wouldn't be surprising_, I admitted mentally as I paired on a pair of long johns and then a pair of jeans. Layers are key - always. A few layers of clothing aren't enough to _always_ stop penetration, but unless they're really going at it, chances are you'll walk away okay. Layers aren't as safe as the gear we'd rigged up for the kids, but it was enough.

Besides, if one of those undead fuckers got close enough to actually take a bite out of me, I'd fucked up royally any hows and probably deserved to get a chunk removed.

By the time I'd dragged a comb through my hair and slid on my socks and boots, I felt somewhat better. Showers were my escape from the world, and I didn't get them often enough. Not anymore. We moved around every couple of days, and we tried to stick to smaller houses that weren't connected to the city water system. Since we never had any way to judge how full the well was, we'd conserve what we could.

Which meant Willie was probably going to chew my ass off.

Groaning, I shoved my dirty clothes into a small bag, along with my personal products, and slammed open the bathroom door. I bypassed the two boxes that were propped alongside the wall in the hall and hurried down the corridor to slip into one of four bedrooms. It was cozy (which is just a nice way of saying small as _hell_), and the bed was at least reasonably comfortable. As was usual, the window had been boarded over, so the only light came from the lantern sitting on the night stand.

"What adventure are you off on today, baby?"

"_Harry Potter_," she responded softly, heavy-lidded brown eyes meeting mine. A smile curled her lips as she sat up, her back braced against the headboard. "I found it. It's okay, right?"

Somehow, the soul and spirit of a meager six year old had been transported to the far beyond. There was no other way to explain how my little sister could read at a middle school level, could already do long division, and had picked up a shit load of Spanish from Cortez, our resident security specialist.

Her brown eyes made me think, as always, of my mom. I managed a weak smile as I tucked my gear away and waited a beat before peeking over my shoulder at her. She'd lucked out in the genetic department and had our mom's strawberry blonde hair. Sure, she didn't like wearing it short, but it was easier to take care of. It always amazed me how small and compact she was - despite the fact that she was tall for her age.

Then again, not all six year olds were riding shotgun while trying to live through the fucking Zombie Apocalypse.

"Ranger and I did more target practice."

Wincing, I looked at the open door, half expecting the giant of a man to be standing there with a blank expression upon his face. He wasn't there, of course. The man was a fucking ghost. "Oh yeah?" Trying to look supportive, I sat down on the edge of the bed and eyed her thoughtfully, wondering if it was normal for a six year old to spend her evenings practicing shooting and then snuggling up with a book and a dictionary-slash-thesaurus. "How did you do?"

"He said he found something small enough that doesn't have a lot of kick." Her voice was soft and gentle and while she _sounded_ like a little kid, her words were perfectly enunciated, as though she thought long and hard about every syllable before she even opened her mouth. "He said it's just for safety, Nat."

"Yeah. I know." I blew my hair out of my eyes as I stood up, swinging on a worn denim jacket over my long-sleeved shirt. I wasted no time slipping my Beretta 9mm into the holster at the small of my back. I tied a strap onto my left thigh and slid a combat knife into its sheath before adding several extra rounds for the pistol into my back pocket. And last, but not least, I slid the Colt Double-Action into the holster on my hip. There was one in the chamber and the magazine was full. I didn't plan on using it - but the firepower might be needed. "I have to head out for awhile."

I watched her face as she absorbed the news, but she managed to hide her distress pretty well. "Bring me back some ice cream." It brought a smile to my face - somehow the gibe had become a private joke between the two of us whenever we had to separate, even for the shortest amount of time.

Her eyes flashed with sadness as I rounded the side of the bed and knelt down, pulling her into my arms. She smelled like baby lotion and strawberry - it was probably just the shampoo she had used, but it made me think of a nearly forgotten time when she was still just a baby. She'd always be a baby, at least to me.

"Jo, you going to be okay?" I asked softly as I pulled back, watching her face for some sign.

She managed a weak smile as she tucked the book against her chest, drawing my attention to the fact that she'd long ago given up wearing pajamas to bed. Joanne was dressed in jeans, a light t-shirt, and I had no doubt that her boots were unlaced and tucked next to the bed within reach for an easy escape. "I'll be fine, sissy." Her voice softened toward the end and I felt both guilty and relieved that she was still around, that she was still _mine_. "Be seeing you."

I swallowed thickly as I slipped out of the room, leaving the door open. Sure, there were four bedrooms in total, but we numbered at a dozen including the kids. Which meant that we'd have at least one or two roommates for the duration of our stay. The bathroom door was shut but there were still boxes and crates stacked in the hall, probably filled with supplies. Not that I cared.

"Coffee?"

I blinked at Eve as I stepped into the kitchen, ignoring the way my stomach clenched in hunger. She'd clearly managed to find enough supplies to whip up something, probably some kind of soup. It smelled okay, but I had a feeling the kids hadn't eaten yet. "Yeah, thanks." I took the proffered travel cup and offered her and Cortez, who was lounging nearby, a quick nod as I slipped out of the kitchen and stalked through the sitting room, ignoring the kids' probing gazes and the mutters from the others.

They could all kiss my ass as far as I was concerned.

"About time," Coop muttered in annoyance as I slipped out onto the covered porch. Willie was perched on an old chair, a shotgun laying across his lap. One peppered brow lifted in question in my direction, but I ignored his gaze as I glared up at Ranger. "We were beginning to think you'd done chickened out."

"Fuck off, Coop." I shoved what was left of the coffee at him, smirking inwardly when his eyes lit up in wonder. "I'm here. Can we get this show on the fucking road?"

Ranger inclined his head slightly, the closest he'd probably ever get to a nod. He was decked out in boots, cargo pants and a heavy jacket - and probably enough artillery on his body to make a military base shit its proverbial pants. Ranger was a man of few words, very few words. Sure he was tall and broad as a barn and there was something vaguely appealing about his tanned skin and black eyes - but there was something just as off-putting about him.

"Be back before dawn," Willie ordered, voice deep and husky from years of smoking stogies. "Keep the two-way on at all times."

No words were said as I trailed Ranger down the porch steps and to the large heavy duty pick-up truck parked in the yard. Fred, a newcomer, was behind the wheel, and offered me a grim smile as I clambered into the cab. I slid across the seat and grimaced as Ranger slid in beside me, squishing me between the two men. Sure, Fred was a beanpole, but Ranger took up more seat than he had a right to.

"Let's get going then." Fred cleared his throat as he made sure the pistol clipped to the dash was loaded. A moment later, we were on the road.

The silence was deafening, and it was strange to be moving through the dark street without the headlights on. But, it was the safest way to travel. Sure, some of the undead would be attracted by the sound of the running vehicle but, more often or not, it was the lights that really drew their attention. After five minutes of slow and quiet travel, I cleared my throat.

"Anybody seen any good movies lately?"


	2. Chapter 2

**When the Man Comes Around:** Survive? Yeah, we survived the apparent end of the world. But, there's a lot more to surviving than just staying alive. When the world tries to take a bite out of you, sometimes you have to fight back. And you have to fight back with everything you have.

**Disclaimer:** I do not claim to have any ownership to any of the characters that may be recognized throughout this story. Several characters from the Resident Evil Universe are portrayed in this story, but they are in no way the main characters. However, the storyline does borrow from concepts presented in the Capcom creations, so please do not sue me! In addition, Kurt Morgan is a creation of a good friend of mine; I'm merely borrowing him.

**Rating:** This story is rated M+ for Mature Audiences only. Adult content including coarse language and a great deal of violence and gore. Please do not read if you are uncomfortable with zombie-related things!

**Author's Note:** Now we'll be introduced to our second POV with the quiet Anna. Her personality and outlook on life, or what's left of it, is completely different from Natalie's, so this ought to be interesting!

"_Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat.__"_ - Anaïs Nin

**Chapter Two**

_**(Anna)**_

"I'm hungry."

"I'm sleepy!"

"Yeah, well I'm gassy!"

A squeal echoed in the room as John leaned over and farted loudly, causing the other four kids to giggle incessantly. My hand drifted upwards and I massaged my throbbing temples idly as I eyed the gaggle of children. Zoey was the youngest at four and Vincent was the oldest at twelve. Brian, eight, Quincy and John, ten. Because of my experience with kids, I'd been placed in charge of their care unofficially.

Officially, I was the least combat-experienced person in the group and therefore referred to jokingly as the _Mother Hen_. I took care of the kids; made sure they kept close during dangerous situations, and did my best to diffuse anything that turned volatile. The only important thing I did was the kids' laundry - and boy, wasn't it just fun.

"I thought you guys wanted to watch a movie." The room quieted down immediately as I stood, hands braced on my hips in front of the large television. "Willie said you're allowed one movie, but the volume has to be kept at a reasonable level. Brian picked last time. John, it's your turn."

He released a barely audible squeal as he hurried forward on his hands and knees, springing to his feet when he was in front of me. I handed him the case of dvds warily, eyes narrowed as he flipped through the selection. We tried to pick up new movies now and then, as they seemed to be one of the primary sources of entertainment for the kids. All of us were relieved every time we managed to find a safe house that still had electricity. There was nothing quite like trying to entertain a bunch of kids when there was no power and no board games - nothing really to do at all.

"I guess this one," he muttered, tapping the DVD before backing up. He fell into the pile of children on the floor and seemed to squeeze between them as I eyed the DVD before slipping it into the player. As soon as the previews started, I turned the volume down to a reasonable level and took the batteries out of the remote before placing it on the mantle over the fireplace. "Aw! That ain't fair, Anna!"

"Life isn't fair, John." We were constantly reminded of it every single day, and yet the kids were the ones that seemed to always think that things should always go their way. If only. "I'm going to be in the kitchen with Eve. I will bring your dinner in to you so that you can eat and watch the movie. Understood?" Somehow, the _teacher_ voice seemed to always work. Their heads bobbed in understanding and I released a huff of air as I spun on my heel and ambled toward the kitchen, head pounding.

Cortez, as was customary, was perched on a stool at the counter, a gadget or two spread out in front of him. He offered me a cheeky grin as I climbed onto a bar stool next to him, resting my back against the counter. "Tired, Teach?"

"Sure looks it," Eve offered. She was the oldest woman left in our little troupe, though it would be hard to tell just by looking at her. There was something oddly beautiful in the way her black hair was laced liberally with gray. Though there were several lines on her face, she was in excellent physical shape and could keep up with the men even better than I could. Which made a small part of me hate her. "Got coffee."

My nose twitched as she shoved a mug into my hands and my body quivered in anticipation. Coffee was a commodity we didn't often get, mainly because it was the one staple that we tried to ration. It was often saved for the more meeker of situations wherein those on guard duty needed to be fully aware and ready to move - hence the caffeine-laced concoction.

"Thanks." Sure, it wasn't a caramel macchiato with a shot of chocolate in it, but it was _coffee_. Honest to goodness _coffee_. "Something smells good."

"Found some canned chicken in the cupboards," Eve explained airily as she lifted the lid off of a kettle and gave the appealing concoction a gentle stir. While she wasn't officially our cook, she took the occupation to heart. She was in charge of keeping track of our supplies, a task she did religiously, and ensuring that we always had at least _something_ on hand to keep our bodies working. Sure, sometimes the food we ate looked and tasted like dog turds, but it kept our energy up. "There was no broth, so I had to make do with water, but the veggies sure smell good."

"Si," Cortez murmured as he leaned toward me, smelling heavily of grease and chewing tobacco. There was something off about the Mexican-American that always left me sitting on edge, but he'd never been anything but courteous toward me. "You just missed Nat. She, Ranger, and Fred are heading to the Merchant."

"I thought we were going to meet up with the other group soon?" I muttered, sipping the coffee slowly. I wanted to savor it, but part of me wanted to chug back the cup and at least three more - never knew if I'd get a chance to drink another cup. "Don't tell me." I winced at his pained expression.

"The radio's been silent the past two days." He seemed sad as he pushed away his current project and fisted his hands, eyes focused on the counter angrily. "We're still going to the location, but I'm not sure what we will find when we get there."

"Jesus Christ." Eve sucked in a sharp breath as I glanced over her, following her gaze and taking notice of the small and faerie-like figure of none other than Zoey. I grimaced as I shoved my coffee into Cortez's hand, remembering too late that she'd been separated from her father months before - and he was supposed to be with the other group. "I'll get the kids fed," Eve promised over her shoulder as I scooped up Zoey and headed to one of the bedrooms.

I ignored the door on the left, knowing that Jo would be inside, probably reading. She wasn't much of a talker unless it was her sister, Coop or, _surprisingly_, Ranger. I slipped into the smaller room on the right, the one that was decorated for a young boy. For a moment, I stared at the border on the wall, eyes watering at the sight of the baseball-themed blue and white wallpaper. When I managed to inhale, I carried Zoey over to the bed, avoiding bags of gear, and sat down, her on my lap.

"Daddy's dead." Her voice was dull, void of emotion. Zoey reminded me a lot of Jo - and that scared me. The other kids were still, at the core, _kids_. They laughed, they cried, they whined about wanting to go outside and play and did their damndest to drive me crazy. But not Zoey. She played in the corner by herself, she was always polite and quiet and slept so light that it only took someone farting in their sleep to wake her up. "He's dead, ain't he?"

As I rocked back and forth, I wanted to cry. It wasn't fair. _None_ of it was fair. Part of me loathed the way that Zoey curled around me, the way that she smelled so innocent and pure. She brought up memories that were too hard to deal with, but impossible to push away.

For a moment, I thought back to a time when things had been normal, when I'd been happy teaching. A year had passed and yet some mornings I still woke up thinking I was going to be late - that I needed to hurry if I wanted to get breakfast on the table for Henry and Lindsey. Sometimes I still remembered what it felt like to fall asleep with my head on my husband's shoulder, what it felt like to have him link his fingers through mine.

But, the good memories were clouded by the bad - they always were.

Sometimes I'd think of Gwen, my next door neighbor of five years and best friend of three. She'd been so funny and smart and simply kind. Her daughter, Stacy, had been around Lindsey's age and they'd been practically inseparable. Sometimes, I'd relive the day from hell over and over again in my dreams - every single aspect of it.

I still recalled how confused I'd been when I'd walked next door, the newspaper in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Lindsey had stayed over the night before and I wanted to make sure things were okay since it was going on ten in the morning and she still hadn't wandered back home. Henry had said that he would go over next door and check - and I hadn't realized until hours later that his car was still in the garage. But, I hadn't expected the front door to be open a crack.

I immediately thought about the flu epidemic. A strange and volatile bug was storming across the world and taking its occupants by storm. I wondered if they were sick, if I needed to call a doctor. My stomach clenched tightly as I hovered in the foyer, stunned by the silence. After a moment, I made my way through the first floor, checking in the kitchen, the guest bathroom, the utility room, and even the sitting room. But, no one was there.

A muffled sound echoed from the second floor and I distractedly dropped my newspaper on the table near the stairs before running up the stairs, three at a time. The second floor landing was quiet, but I followed the muffled sound to the master bedroom.

"Gwen? Jacob?" Last I heard, Gwen's husband Jacob had been on a business trip, but maybe he'd returned earlier than anticipated. I pushed open the door slowly, breath leaving my body at the trail of blood on the ruined white carpet. Vomit rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down as I jerkily slammed the door the rest of the way open, eyes wide and body shaking. "Jacob?"

I'd known the man for years, and yet he looked like an absolute stranger kneeling on the large stained and bloodied bed with the prone form of his wife slung across his lap. He glanced up and I bit back a scream at the sight of his face - it was scratched and bloodied.

"Get out of here, Anna! Get out!"

"Oh my God." I stumbled forward, sliding on the blood and nearly toppling over. I slammed against the bureau and stared at Gwen's bloodied form, wondering if her bathrobe had always been a sickly crimson color. "Jacob? Jacob, what happened?"

"I don't know!" he yelled, sobbing as he rocked back and forth. "Gwen wasn't feeling well last night. This morning, I got up early and was downstairs in the kitchen when I heard screaming. Oh God. Oh God, Anna." He turned his head sharply and looked at the open door, pale face bright under the overhead lights. "Henry barreled up the stairs and swung Gwen out of the way and she hit her head, hit it good. It stopped her but - but it didn't stop it."

Confused and terrified, I stepped forward, hands shaking. I wasn't sure whether to comfort him or call the police on him. But - then it occurred to me that there was far too much blood for what he spoke of. "Jacob - where's Lindsey? Where's Stacy and Henry and Lindsey?"

"I'm sorry." He sobbed as he lifted his hand, drawing my gaze to the shining silver pistol in his hand. He pulled back the hammer as his eyes met mine and I realized that one was bloody - had he blown a pupil? "I tried to stop them - I did. But - it's my daughter." His lips trembled and a bit of blood slipped out of his lips, trailing down his chin. "I can't do it. I won't do it."

A gasp of horror left my lips as the shot echoed in the room, causing my ears to ring. Bile rose in my throat and the coffee slid weakly from my grasp as I leaned over and emptied my stomach of its contents, eyes squeezing out tears. I don't know how much time passed before I could right myself, but I was eventually able to stand without feeling completely woozy.

The house was silent, settled. I stared at the dead forms of my friends for what felt like hours before I realized that I was hearing something. I don't even remember grabbing the gun and running over the slicked floors, but I did. Somehow I found myself standing outside of the door of Stacy's room, staring at the closed door in confusion. My hand was on the knob a second later and I pushed the door open, simply staring.

Henry lay on the floor, curled around Lindsey. If it wasn't for the blood and the fact that there was a gaping hole in his chest and guts spilling out of his abdomen, it might have seemed sweet. Lindsey's face was bloodied and there was a huge hunk of flesh missing from her arm - but it was her.

I stumbled into the room, the gun dropping from my limp hands. I didn't notice the blood and the guts as I fell to my knees and threw myself over them, sobbing in confusion as I realized, without a doubt, that they were _gone_. They were gone and they were never coming back. I don't know how much time passed as I sat there on my knees, draped around my husband and my daughter, grieving, before I heard the noise again.

When I glanced up, I blinked at the closet in confusion. My blue eyes followed the trail of blood from the closet to my family and something in the back of my mind told me that it was a trail of some sort. A cold clarity raced through me as I crawled toward the door, palming the pistol before I pulled myself to my feet. Like an automaton, I stalked toward the closet door. I didn't even notice the blood on my hand as I turned the knob and pulled it open.

I jerked as I squeezed the trigger twice, body beaded with sweat. Silently, I closed the door, leaving Stacy dead in her large closet.

"Miss Anna?"

I jerked slightly, nearly toppling off the side of the bed as Zoey stared up at me. I'd gotten so lost in my thoughts that - I swallowed thickly and offered her what I hoped passed for a weak smile. "I'm not sure if your Daddy is dead," I answered truthfully, wondering why the words tasted like ash on my tongue. "No matter what we find out or what happens, we'll stick together. We're survivors, right?"

She blinked, her thickly-lashed eyes glazing over with tears. Mutely, she crawled out of my lap and curled up on the bed, thumb inserted firmly in her mouth. It struck a nerve inside of me that made me choke back a sob. Weakly, I lay down next to her, curling against her back and hugging her close to me.

After a few minutes, I realized she was humming something under her breath.

It sounded a lot like _'I Shot the Sheriff'._


End file.
